We were running down by the river today. The morning mist had lifted, but it was till cool. Lots of normal people were on the trail with dogs and children. The light glimmered in golden streaks on the river.
My knee was in savage pain. I had it in a tight brace.
“Its relatively simple.”
Said the Librarian as we paced down the trail.
“Scrape publicly posted race results from 5k’s and 10k’s from January to August 2013 in Albuquerque and compare them to race results from Colorado Springs from January to September 2017. Any female name that matches both cities is a likely suspect. You can rule out girls who are too young and women too old to match the photo.”
The Librarian was putting figures into her cell phone 📱 calculator.
“We know she’s a creature of habit. Both the Albuquerque shitter and the Colorado Springs shitter shit repeatedly in the same place. It’s almost like a biorhythm. They are similar in build and they dress 👗 like 🏃♀️ runners. However the Albuquerque shitter never wipes her shit-covered anus. Age anywhere from maybe 28 to 35. Colorado Springs shitter could be ages 32-56.”
”It’s hard to tell her age but she is very lean. She wears runners’ 🏃 clothes and shoes 👞. I think 🤔 she’s between 28-44. So we get all females between roughly 28-56 from all 2013 Albuquerque and 2017 Colorado Springs distance races and isolate the matches. Then we check the names against known professional databases like QuinkenIn. Anyone who lived in or near both Albuquerque in 2013 or Colorado Springs in 2017 is our girl. Quod 💷 Erat Demonstratum.”
I explained/brilliantly/explained (no one ☝️ knows that shitty, meaningless, phony rule of grammar).
”I say we do an experiment. I am dressed 👗 like the mad 😠 💩 pooper 🚽. Except I am wearing a massive adult diaper. Then when we reach a likely pooping area, I will make a massive, copious, thick, brownuous, reeking bowel movement in my ginormous adult diaper.”
Said the near-psychotic Librarian.
We could hear the megaphone shouts of the various Coxswains down on the river as their boats went back and forth under the bridges to the Island. I was mad that I couldn’t run faster despite having tons of extra lung strength. How could I run Hell on Hills next week on one knee?
First mile very slow about 10:30. I was basically running on one leg. By the Second mile, the Librarians rotting diaper was fumigating the entire Island with pure brownuous Bowel Genie. Deer and raccoons were gagging and falling out on the trail. Birds dropped from the sky.
The Fineview step challenge had destroyed my left knee joint. I desperately needed to get about 40 miles out of it by December 31st, but it wasn’t looking good. Third mile on the little bridge was a gruesome 34 something. We didn’t even break 36 for the 5k time… 36:02. Most people couldn’t walk on this but I had to run.
We ran past the crew people carrying their red boats into the boathouse. I was hoping they couldn’t taste the Librarian’s horrific stench.
“I got two venison sandwiches at Arby’s©®™. I have another one in my car, but I’m not letting you into my car until you change that rancid bowel-movement filled diaper.”
I stated idly as I staggered to a halt on the gray fine gravel trail.
“I no longer care. I already urinate copious amounts of tasty yeasty urine every single time I run, I just upgraded to a more massive diaper so I could be more like you. Your diaper is like your literary criticism: it stinks and it is filled with rotting bacteria.”
She went into the shitty outhouse with her designer adult diaper bag. While she was in there I began to download the race results from Albuquerque and Colorado Springs. Would I find a match? Would I catch the Mad Pooper?”
The Librarian emerged from the shit-covered outhouse. She was magnificent in her spandex silhouetted against the golden reflections of the beautiful river.
“You smell like shit, let’s get you cleaned up on my houseboat/river-yacht.”
I advised, as we walked over to the docks. We walked down the hidden steps in the thick weeds by the water’s edge.
“Your river yacht is enormous. Let’s get a shower and f&%$, yon Botendaddy. Have you got Wifi?”
“Espresso with foam?”
Peace be the Botendaddy